


Different Sides of the Same Coin

by Ruenis



Category: Aldnoah.Zero (Anime & Manga)
Genre: Angst, Death Idealization, M/M, Post-Canon, Unrequited Love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-10
Updated: 2019-03-17
Packaged: 2019-11-15 06:27:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,114
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18068306
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ruenis/pseuds/Ruenis
Summary: Kaizuka Inaho is his warden.And that is all he ever will be.





	1. Something Tasteless

_Annoying._

The word sits on the tip of Slaine’s tongue as he gazes at Kaizuka, the urge to yell it becoming increasingly harder to endure the longer he puts up with whatever farce the other has planned for their day today.

Gently tapping his fingers against his arm, Slaine breathes in and tries to calm himself down before he loses his temper again, before he is made to be sedated and left in a confused daze for a few days.

The last time he ‘acted out’, Kaizuka had been trying to touch him, trying to help him up after he had fallen. Walking that day had been difficult – it had been unbearably hot, and the guard did not bring him water like they usually do, and he had gotten dehydrated and dizzy. It is the guard’s fault Kaizuka tried to touch him. If they had just brought him water, then he would not have slapped Kaizuka or shoved him away as hard as he could.

And then there was the time he ended up catching ill. It was not nearly bad enough to warrant any serious attention, but Kaizuka came to see him  _three times a day for a whole damn week_ with medication and something he  _tried_ to call soup, but tasted also of some kind of disgustingly syrupy medicine. Slaine only ate it because Kaizuka refused to leave until it was finished, having taken his warden duties far too seriously that week.

There is no doubt the soup was laced with something; with  _what_ , however, Slaine has no idea.

Neither of them have ever made any mention of it.

Slaine doubts it was meant to harm him; Kaizuka has always treated him like a porcelain vase, already cracked with missing pieces.

_‘I care about you, Slaine’,_ Kaizuka has told him, in the most sincere, serious of tones. It started.. two years ago, perhaps, when he started saying it. It took him quite a while to get to that point; Slaine is unsure of what caused the sudden change, but it is painfully clear that he absolutely means it.

It was better, in the beginning.

Kaizuka had been more distant.

Kaizuka did not come around nearly as often, wearing that stupid grin, did not try to force conservation.

Kaizuka would only stay for an hour or so and then leave after asking him only a single question:  _“Do you still want to die?”_

It was nice.

It was bearable.

It was not unnecessarily cruel.

Slaine always answered ‘yes’.  _‘Yes, I still want to die’._

Kaizuka does not ask him the question, anymore.

_Why don’t you ask me the question, anymore?_

Slaine follows Kaizuka's one dark eye, watches as it lingers on his fingers; it seems the incessant noise has his attention, though he does not seem to be particularly bothered.

It takes quite a lot to visibly bother him. There are little twitches, minute changes in his face.

Slaine is loathe to admit it, but he has become able to tell Kaizuka’s stoic faces apart over their few years together.

_I hate it._

Kaizuka lifts his head after a moment, catching Slaine’s eyes. “How was your day today, Slaine?”

It comes out pleasant. Unbearably so.

Kaizuka uses his given name as if it is the easiest thing in the world, as if they did not spend the better of a year calling each other childish nicknames.

It is far too familial, for what their relationship entails.

Kaizuka is a warden.

Slaine is a prisoner.

This is all they will ever be.

Slaine remains silent.

_I will not indulge you in this farce._

Kaizuka’s stoic front melts away, and he smiles that damned smile of his, the  _real_ one he has gotten better at showing.

**It is unbearably pleasant.**

“Did you like the gift I left you?” Kaizuka asks, glancing toward the cot that serves as Slaine's bed. There is a box on it, empty, with its plain white cover on the floor and the bottom near the cot’s edge, filled with empty wrappers.

“I only ate it to see if you'd poisoned it,” Slaine finally says, swallowing the bitter  _‘I hate you’_ before it manages to slip out. It is not worth it, getting so worked up over someone so insignificant. But Kaizuka is just so damn bothersome, like a thorn that refuses to be plucked. It digs and digs and digs, but even after all their time together, it is hard to ignore the annoying sensation. “Maybe then, I finally wouldn't have to see your face everyday,” he continues, returning Kaizuka's warm smile with a smirk of his own, “and you could give up on your ‘pet project’.”

Kaizuka's smile fades. Genuine hurt flashes across his features, and his one dark eye narrows. “You aren't a pet project, Slaine,” he says, and once again, it is painfully clear that he means it, that he is completely and utterly serious.

_Don't look at me like that._

It is unbearable. Kaizuka is unbearable.

Anger bubbles over. “Then what do you call  _this_?” Slaine demands, raising his voice. Digging his fingers into his arm, he tries to abstain from harming Kaizuka, as much as he would like to.

It is not worth it.

Kaizuka is not worth it.

This is a farce. A façade.

There is only one reason Kaizuka visits him every day, and it is to keep up appearances.

The  _‘Hero of Earth’_ , oh so busy spending his time in what Slaine has been told is a medical clinic, for patients with post traumatic stress disorder and other various issues as a result of the second war.

The  _‘Hero of Earth’_ , doing  _good deeds_ , helping  **her** to bring about a peaceful age, now that the ‘perpetrator’ is dead and gone, now that Slaine Troyard cannot bring harm to anyone or anything any longer.

Slaine is an old set of porcelain that people refuse to throw away, keep locked up for ‘safekeeping’, with the slightest, smallest, tiniest chance of either being freed and used or destroyed.

Standing up, Slaine presses his hand flat against the table, breathing out shakily.

“Sit down, Slaine,” Kaizuka says, and it is soft.

It is not an order.

It is far too weak to be an order.

It is a plea.

_‘Please don't do something that'll get you into trouble, again’._

_‘Please don't do something that'll hurt you, again’._

It takes a moment to finally click.

It should have clicked a few years ago, the  _first_ time Kaizuka told him he cared.

Breathing in at the realisation, Slaine feels his eyes widen in shock. Something vile works its way up his throat, and he presses a hand to his mouth, swallowing his bitter, empty heart. It tastes of the bitter chocolate Kaizuka had given him, of resentment. “Are you  _insane_?!” he asks, voice high.

This is a line that should  _never_ have been crossed, never even been  _approached_ ; Kaizuka should have stayed  _miles_ away from it.

The line should have been clear as day. Clear as the broken moon in the sky: impossible to miss.

“What the fuck is wrong with you?” Slaine whispers, the words slipping from his lips before he has a chance to think about what to do next.

To his surprise, Kaizuka answers: “I don't know.”

It has been four years, Slaine has been told.

Time means nothing, here.

It only serves as a painful reminder that he could have been put out of his misery  _years_ ago, when they fell to Earth and landed on that beach.

Kaizuka should have shot him, right then. It was stupid, taking him prisoner and having  **her** decide what to do with him.

It was a stupid,  _idiotic_ ,  **naïve**  thing to do.

If only Kaizuka had just shot him.

Then this could have all been avoided.

The cruel ‘kindness’.

This farce, façade, a fake show that the two of them put on day after day.

Every day, Slaine tries to break free of the routine, the ‘rules’, the ‘script’, and he is punished for it.

Every day, Kaizuka tries to keep up the normalcy, the same actions over and over – he tries to play a game of chess, tries to get Slaine to talk, tries to get him to eat.

Every day, they get further and further away from the paths they should have taken when they fell to Earth and met each other for what should have been their last meeting.

“If you truly loved me,” Slaine says, and he hears Kaizuka's breath catch at the word, the acknowledgement, “you would let me die.”

Kaizuka is cruel.

Slaine can be crueler. There is nothing to lose, after all; why not become the terrible, awful, horrible person that everyone speaks of? There is nothing stopping him from stepping all over Kaizuka's heart and breaking it to millions of tiny, fragile pieces. There are no consequences so long as they do not touch one another.

“That isn't how love..”

“What? ‘That is not how love works’?” Slaine asks, giving Kaizuka his  _best_ smile, now. The mocking one, the one he  _knows_ gets under Kaizuka’s skin. The one Kaizuka hates. “I do not think you can try and tell me how love works, when you fell for the  _only_ person you were not supposed to,” he says, lowering his voice again. “You are selfish, Kaizuka,” he tells the other, and that causes him to tense up again, seemingly taken by surprise by the comment, “If you were not, I would not be here. You and I both know that.”

_If you weren't selfish, I could be.._

“You mean, if I didn't care about you?” Kaizuka retorts, and it comes out surprisingly hostile.

Slaine blinks at the tone, caught off-guard. “You are being emotional,” he says, careful and slow, and Kaizuka breathes out, looking away from him, seemingly trying to reign himself back in before the situation gets too out of hand.

Neither of them have grown up.

Slaine cannot grow up, locked in a glass cell and ‘babied’ by Kaizuka, fawned over by him.

It was better, in the beginning.

“Did you really think I would ever return your feelings?”

“I never expected you to,” Kaizuka says, and it is honest.

It comes out soft. Sad.

Kaizuka knew, then. That his feelings would forever be unrequited. And yet, he still..

“You are selfish,” Slaine says, softer now. It comes out dejected, and he presses both of his hands to the cold, steel table, the pressure turning his fingertips pink. “Why do you love me, Kaizuka?” he asks, voice low, uneven.

**How** _do you love me? After everything? How could you love me, when I feel nothing but contempt for you?_

_When I hate you more than anything in this world?_

“I don't know,” Kaizuka says again.

Slaine breathes out. “Leave,” he says, willing his voice to steady. It does not. It comes out uneven, but he manages to get the seriousness through in his tone.

“Sla–..”

“Before I lose my temper, Kaizuka.”

This will be Kaizuka’s one and only chance to leave, unscathed, before Slaine loses the smallest bit of patience he has left for the other, a chance before Slaine does something he will surely regret later when the guards manhandle him far more roughly than they need to, when they hold him in a vice as if he is truly physically capable of fighting back against armoured, properly trained individuals in his current state.

Kaizuka has asked them to be gentler, but that was  _before_ ; Kaizuka has  _always_ , even when he was distant, wanted for him to be treated humanely.

It makes no difference.

Kaizuka's wishes, before and after his terrible decision to love someone who will never,  _ever_ love him back, will go unheard.

Kaizuka slowly stands up, their eyes meeting again. Kaizuka's dark eye is saddened, and it looks as if he wants to say something.

The two of them remain standing for a moment, staring at each other.

Slaine knows he is glaring. Knows he has been, upon realising  _that_ , knows that it will take a great deal of willpower to force himself to forget today ever happened, to think once again that Kaizuka is treating him kindly because he is cruel, to forget that Kaizuka is treating him kindly because he  _loves_ him –  _Why would_ **anyone** _ever love me?_

“I'll see you tomorrow, Slaine,” Kaizuka says, and it is one that same soft, gentle, tone, the  _loving_ one. The one filled with concern and worry that should not be there, the one that does not belong, the one that is not suitable to Kaizuka’s title of  _warden_.

Slaine breathes out again, and shuts his eyes.

Kaizuka is testing him. Kaizuka is damn close to being seized by his collar, and punched, though it would be easy for Kaizuka to free himself.

Kaizuka is healthier, after all. Not that he ever fights back. Even in the beginning, he never fought back. Perhaps there is some small part of him that realises, that _knows_ what he is doing, even if it  _is_ unintentional. Even if Kaizuka  _thinks_ he is not being cruel. Even if he thinks he is acting in earnest.

“I don’t want to see you for awhile, Kaizuka.”

It comes out through gritted teeth. There is no longer a bitter taste on his tongue, in his mouth; it has been replaced with a numb sort of feeling.

It is tasteless.

It feels empty, where his heart is supposed to be.

Kaizuka lingers.

He is pushing it.

“.. I understand,” he says, and it is pained, still. Gentle, still.  _Loving_ , still. Kaizuka’s fingertips graze the table, and he tries to catch Slaine's gaze again. He fails. “I'll.. see you later, Slaine.”

‘Later’.

Kaizuka will listen to him. It is obvious, from the tone of his voice, from that hurt look on his face. Slaine will be left alone for a few days while Kaizuka goes and does whatever it is when he is not visiting, will take time to mend his broken heart, which seems to have been broken for quite some time now. It probably broke the second he realised he had..

_It doesn’t matter. I’m going to forget. I’m going to forget he.._

Slaine falls silent. Lowering his gaze to the steel table, he listens as Kaizuka slowly walks away from him, listens as Kaizuka slides that keycard he wears around his neck into the small panel at the cell's locked door. Slaine threatened to steal it, once, in the beginning; Kaizuka told him to go ahead and try, which resulted in Slaine being forced down onto the ground after he tried to choke Kaizuka with the damn lanyard.

It was after that, that Kaizuka did not ask or tell him to do things anymore. It seems he thought Slaine would not try, and tried to make a joke. Seeing the way the guards acted shook him up.

The lock clicks softly, and Kaizuka lets himself out of the cell, lets the door shut and lock behind him once again.

Slaine has never tried to leave the cell on his own. Despite wanting to disappear and being more than willing to do things to make that happen, he is almost positive the guards have been ordered not to mortally injure him, no doubt courtesy of Kaizuka and the damn title he carries. The guards would stop and restrain him, but he would not die.

He would not die, so it is not worth it.

Kaizuka's footsteps stop for a moment, and Slaine still does not raise his head, wanting to forget the broken hearted look on Kaizuka's face, wanting to forget the genuine care, the cruel, but well intended kindness, wanting to forget today ever happened, that he ever realised  _that_.

A moment later, Kaizuka's footsteps sound again, and they grow softer and softer as he leaves down the hall, leaving Slaine all alone, just as he wanted, in his cold, bare cell.

Slaine breathes out.

It is shaky, again.

Balling his hands into fists, he digs his nails into his palms, trying to forget,  _forget_ ,  **forget**. When he goes to sleep tonight, he will forget, and things will be different in the morning.

In the morning, Kaizuka will not be here to torture him. Or in the afternoon, or evening, or during the night.

They will have time to  _finally_ be apart. Kaizuka will not be trying to make small talk for hours, trying to get him to look at him, trying to make things seem  _normal_.

Slaine breathes in.

Raising his head, he glances toward his cell door.

Kaizuka's footsteps are no longer audible; he is long gone now, probably driving home –  _being driven, he isn't allowed to drive_ – with his sister, the sister that loves him so dearly, the sister who is probably unaware of her  _dear little brother's_ infatuation with the person responsible for him having one less eye.

Slaine knows more about Kaizuka’s sister than he should.

Kaizuka will talk on and on and on about her if Slaine refuses to talk with him, which is probably not the best idea, but there is not much Slaine can do with the information, either. Kaizuka seems more than happy to fill the silent air with talk of ‘Yuki’. How Yuki was late to work, again. How Yuki forgot her lunch at home. How Yuki is going to move overseas.

How Yuki got married recently. How happy see was, being a new wife.

Slaine shoves the thoughts aside. Slowly walking over to his bed, he throws himself roughly into it, gently gripping the thin blanket that he is allowed to have.

A future like that.. is impossible, for him.

There was never any normalcy he could have ever hoped to achieve, after everything.

He cannot fall in love.

Will not have a real first kiss.

Will not get married.

Will not have a bright and happy future.

Whether Kaizuka likes it or not, Slaine Troyard is already dead,  _has_ already been dead for quite some time now, and he will die again in this glass cell when his body finally gives up on him. When it finally stops fighting for him, when it finally stops pushing away the inevitable.

It is only a matter of time.

Slaine shuts his eyes and tries to forget. There is some small solace, some small comfort in sleeping things away. It is dark, pitch, and he does not dream that often. Without any hopes, it is easy to achieve dreamless sleep, though he always hopes the nightmares will not return.

He sleeps, and tries not to think about how Kaizuka may have pictured his own future, tries not to think about the fact that Kaizuka may have wanted Slaine in it, tries not to think about  _Kaizuka_. There will come a day when Kaizuka finally gives up on him.  _Is forced_ to finally give up on him.

_It's only a matter of time._


	2. Kind Intent

Remaining quiet as he watches Slaine taps his fingers against his bare arm, Inaho breathes out.

Slaine is already quite angry and upset despite their daily visit having only just begun, and he has not uttered a single word, nor has he offered any polite greeting. Those pretty, teal eyes of his are narrowed, and the sound of his fingers against his arm is incessantly soft, filling the silent, stagnant air with quiet taps.

It is not annoying.

It takes quite a lot of misbehaviour for Inaho to become annoyed with the blond, and it has only gotten to that point a few times.

Once, last year, there was a period in which Slaine kept hiding chess pieces. It was later found that he would use the metal frame of his cot to crush them, or hide one or two amongst the leftover scraps of food, and let the guard throw it away whenever they came to pick up his tray.

It was mildly annoying.

Slaine made an obvious point to only ‘misplace’ Inaho’s pieces.

Inaho is not sure what made Slaine stop that particular ‘game’ of his. Each week, Inaho would go out and buy himself new pieces for about three months; perhaps Slaine simply tired of his little ‘game’, or realised it would not be fun anymore, given how easily Inaho can replace what has been lost.

Lifting his head after a moment, he catches Slaine’s pretty, teal eyes. They look tired. They always look tired. Slaine has said it himself, that he is tired of being here. That he just wants to finally disappear. “How was your day today, Slaine?” he asks, genuinely interested. Offering the blond a smile, trying to block the unwanted thoughts, he waits patiently for an answer he knows he will not get.

Their conversations often become one-sided, or result in Slaine yelling at him if he is in a particularly bad mood. If he is in a slightly better mood, then Slaine becomes sarcastic with him.

Inaho prefers the sarcasm to silence.

They have never had a normal conversation.

Their very first one in this cell resulted in Slaine sobbing for hours on end, confused as to why he was not being executed for his crimes against Earth.

“Did you like the gift I left you?” Inaho asks, glancing toward Slaine’s cot. On it, there is the empty box Inaho left him yesterday, with its plain white cover on the floor and the bottom half of it near the cot’s edge, ready to fall off. It is filled with empty chocolate wrappers.

“I only ate it to see if you’d poisoned it,” Slaine finally says.

It comes out dry. Sarcastic, yet serious.

There is an ache in Inaho’s heart. It is extraordinarily difficult to get Slaine to eat; he has a terrible habit of not eating anything at all or eating only a small amount. However, he  _is_ ready and willing to eat anything Inaho prepares himself.. only because he thinks there is a chance that it has been laced with arsenic, or some other kind of poison.

Inaho would never do such a thing. But it seems Slaine still has hope that his warden will turn murderer one day, out of mercy or malice, Inaho  _knows_ Slaine does not care either way.

“Maybe then, I finally wouldn't have to see your face everyday,” Slaine says, and there is a smirk on his lips, mocking and childish, “and you could give up on your ‘pet project’.”

Inaho's one eye narrows, and his smile slips.

It hurts, hearing Slaine say these kinds of things.

It used to not hurt. It used to not bother him.

“You aren't a pet project, Slaine,” he says, and he  _means_ it.

Slaine snaps.

No matter how hard Inaho tries, Slaine will probably never believe him, never believe a single word he says, no matter how earnest, how sincere, how serious and genuine.

To Slaine, everything that comes out of his mouth is a lie. A façade. A farce.

Slaine asked him, once. To ‘drop the act’.

Inaho later realised Slaine meant being kind to him.

“Then what do you call  _this_?” Slaine demands, raising his voice.

Inaho watches as Slaine digs his fingers into his arm, presumably resisting the urge to act out violently.

Slaine has a notoriously short temper; it does not take much to anger him, though Inaho is positive it is only because the two of them are locked in a small, glass room together for hours on end, because Inaho is the one who did not shoot him and end his life, because  _Kaizuka Inaho_ is the one who refuses to let Slaine Troyard die.

Standing up, Slaine presses his hand flat against the table, breathing out shakily.

Inaho tenses up, instincts telling him that this situation needs to be diffused before it gets too out of hand, before Slaine becomes too worked up. “Sit down, Slaine,” he tells the blond, using the softest, calmest tone he can manage, not wanting to anger the blond any further. It does no good to argue with him or raise his own voice in retaliation; Slaine only tries to continue to one up him, to  _‘win’_.

It takes a moment for Slaine to react.

Something clicks.

Something flashes in those pretty, teal eyes of his, and Inaho holds his breath when Slaine’s eyes gloss over, filling with hot, angry, hurt tears.

_He figured it out,_ Inaho realises,  _I shouldn’t have said anything._ There is nothing he can do now to alleviate Slaine’s mood, to try and fix the problem, to try and calm him down. Falling quiet as he gazes at the blond, he feels his heart rise to his throat, like a hard ball, and it is painful.

It was supposed to stay a secret. Absolutely  _no one_ can know – the higher ups would attempt to use it as leverage, would try to punish Slaine more than he already is, would use it as a viable, valid excuse as to why Inaho should no longer be Slaine Troyard’s warden.

Pressing a hand to his mouth, Slaine breathes in sharply; it does not seem he realises he is on the verge of cracking, of breaking down into hurt, confused sobs. Those tears in his eyes well up a bit more, threaten to spill. “Are you  _insane_?!” he demands, and his voice is high, a little shaky.

Inaho knows he crossed a line. But he did not mean to. If he could have helped it, he would  _not_ have crossed the line, would  _not_ have done something like this to upset Slaine this much.

“What the fuck is wrong with you?” Slaine whispers, and he sounds like he is in disbelief.

“I don’t know,” Inaho responds.

It is a lie.

A half-lie, anyway.

Inaho is silent again as Slaine  _thinks_ , silent as he watches Slaine try to make sense of this, tries to figure out  _why_.

A steel table is the only thing separating the two of them.

Inaho has already prepared himself for a violent, volatile reaction.

It is warranted, after all.

Slaine hates him more than anything else in this world.

“If you truly loved me,” Slaine says, and Inaho breathes in, surprised to hear the blond acknowledge it, “you would let me die.”

It is impossible to ignore the way his heart clenches up at the comment. Inaho breathes out, and gazes up at the blond, starting to say, “That isn't how love..”

“What? ‘That is not how love works’?” Slaine cuts him off, and he  _grins_.

It is taunting him. Mocking him.

Slaine  _knows_ Inaho hates that smile. It is fake, and it is forced, and its only purpose is to be used to  _hurt_.

“I do not think you can try and tell me how love works, when you fell for the  _only_ person you were not supposed to,” Slaine continues, lowering his voice. “You are selfish, Kaizuka,” he tells the other, and Inaho tenses up, breathing in, “If you were not, I would not be here. You and I both know that.”

Slaine is carefully enunciating each word now, visibly trying not to lose his temper, but very well close to cracking. At least he has some control over his words, control that he is using to the best of his ability so he does not explode.

“You mean, if I didn't care about you?” Inaho retorts, angry now.

It is unfair, the way Slaine words it. Inaho  _knows_ he is being selfish by denying Slaine the one and only thing he wants in this world: to die.

But Inaho is only being selfish because he cares. Because he happened to fall in love. Surely there is  _some_ peace in knowing that he is being selfish by stopping a terrible, sad thing from happening.

Slaine blinks in surprise, visibly caught off-guard. “You are being emotional.”

Inaho looks away from him at that, breathing out.

It is unfair.

Slaine is emotional all the time.  _Very_ emotional.

But it comes normally to him.

“Did you really think I would ever return your feelings?”

“I never expected you to,” Inaho says, knowing full well the painful truth that he had realised the very  _minute_ he loved Slaine.

“You are selfish,” Slaine says, softer now. Pressing both of his hands to the steel table, he still looks terribly upset, still as if he might cry. The pressure turns his fingertips pink, and it is a sign that blood still runs through his veins, that he is not as dead as he wishes he was. “Why do you love me, Kaizuka?”

It comes out uneven. Shaky.

“I don’t know,” Inaho says again, and it is another bold lie.

Even if he wanted to, he could never tell Slaine why, especially not now, not when he is so volatile and upset.

Slaine would not understand  _‘I just did’._

_‘I just did’_ , after they spent two years together in a small cell, after Inaho had gotten used to seeing Slaine often, after Inaho had become accustomed to Slaine’s mannerisms, after he realised, feeling guilty, how much he  _liked_ seeing Slaine that often.

Since then, it has been another two years, and Inaho is no closer to figuring out ‘why’.

Slaine is rude to him.

Unkind to him.

Treats him still like they are enemies on a battlefield, when in reality, they are locked in a tiny, glass cage and only one of them can fly in and out.

In the back of his head, Inaho knows things could have been different.

Maybe that is why.

If things had been different, maybe this love would not have been unrequited.

Maybe Slaine would have given it a chance.

Maybe they would have gotten along.

Maybe Slaine would not wish to die.

Slaine breathes out. “Leave, Kaizuka.”

“Sla–..”

“Before I lose my temper, Kaizuka.”

There is venom in Slaine’s tone. Pure hatred. It seethes, and those pretty, teal eyes of his are narrowed, a furrow in his brow, and it seems he is too far gone to calm down, now.

Inaho tries to ignore the way his heart starts to ache, again. Standing up, the two of them stare at each other for a moment, quiet.

This was the expected outcome. With the way things are, Slaine was  _never_ going to feel the same way; it is a small miracle Slaine did not completely lose every ounce of patience he has built up over their four years together.

“I’ll see you tomorrow, Slaine,” he says, and it comes out soft, softer than he had meant it to.

It causes Slaine to breathe out again, to shut his eyes.

When people are kind to him, it hurts. Slaine has said so before. To stop being so ‘cruelly kind’. To treat him ‘properly’.

Inaho knows it means  _‘don’t show me an ounce of kindness because I am your prisoner’._

Slaine calls him his warden. It is true, to an extent.

There is no one else here that comes in and checks on Slaine, unless it is to give him food and see if he is breathing.

Inaho is the one comes in nearly every day, checks on Slaine, checks on his health, reports to the doctor in charge here, though they are reluctant to give Slaine any medication because of orders from people in stations above them. Inaho is the one who tries to get Slaine to eat his meals, to stay properly hydrated, to keep himself busy and occupied and away from those dangerous thoughts in his head.

It is not enough.

It will never be enough.

Slaine has made up his mind, and no amount of attention, especially  _Inaho’s attention_ , can do anything to change it.

It has been difficult, trying to bring up Slaine’s health whenever it comes up in the higher up’s meetings regarding him. No one wants to acknowledge the fact that Slaine would be doing much better than he is right now if only he had the proper medical help.

“I don’t want to see you for awhile, Kaizuka.”

It comes out through gritted teeth.

Inaho hesitates as he shifts, fingertips grazing the table. It is cold beneath his fingers,  _freezing_ , and he figures that the icy touch is something Slaine is used to, by now. Slaine barely bats an eye when winter comes ‘round, and he does not complain about the cold.

Slaine only complains about Inaho being here. Complains about Inaho constantly visiting him.

The one thing that would probably make Slaine happy is the only thing Inaho cannot allow himself to do.

“.. I understand,” Inaho says, and it comes out in that same soft tone he had used before.

Slaine is not looking at him, anymore. Slaine does not  _want_ to look at him anymore.

Try as he may, Inaho cannot again catch Slaine’s gaze.

“I’ll.. see you later, Slaine.”

Slaine does not respond this time.

Inaho slowly walks away, sparing Slaine one last glance.

Slaine is so small. Inaho will have to start bringing him meals again, just so that he eats, so that he does not become a brittle, hollow shell of a person. Slaine will eat it, even if he knows it is not poisoned, no matter how badly he hopes, wishes for it to be. There are dark circles under his eyes, one of the few touches of colour there is on his pale, pale skin, and his near-white hair has gotten longer again. It is long enough to hide the chain he wears ‘round his neck, the necklace Inaho had returned to him after everything has been said and done.

Inaho slides the keycard he wears ‘round his neck through the small panel at the cell’s locked door.

Slaine threatened to steal it upon realising what it was for.

Inaho told him to ‘go ahead and try’.

So Slaine did. Slaine tried to choke him with the lanyard.

After that, Inaho stopped telling him to do things. The guards forced Slaine down to the ground and kept him sedated for a few days, which was entirely unnecessary – Inaho  _knows_ he is the one who should have been reprimanded. It was his fault Slaine was treated the way he was, and the sedation left him in a daze for nearly a week afterward; he had not been eating or drinking at the time, and the drugs were in his system far longer than they needed to be.

The lock clicks softly.

Inaho lets himself out of the cell, lets the door shut and lock behind him. Stopping for a moment, he glances at Slaine for a last time, trying to swallow his heart, his _mistake_. It feels like a hard bit of ice in his throat, with spikes that dig in and sting and ache. It threatens to pierce further if he tries to say anything else, threatens to cut and hurt.

So he keeps going, and says nothing more.

The hallways are dimly lit, here. There is just enough light to see if there is someone at the other end, but not enough to make out who they are. The whole ward is ill-lit. Slaine’s small window offers some natural light during the day, and moonlight during the night, and thankfully it cannot be opened, so no rain or snow or mosquitoes make their way inside.

The air conditioner sometimes breaks down, during the summer. Slaine and the guards alike succumb to the heat rather quickly, and the only reason it gets fixed in a reasonable amount of time is for  _their_ benefit, not Slaine’s.

During the winter, heat runs through the vents, instead. It is still not enough to combat the frosty feeling of Slaine’s cell during the later months.

Nothing anyone does is ever for Slaine.

Inaho’s footsteps are quiet as he makes his way through the building. A few guards pass him, making their rounds, and spare him a small nod or a glance of acknowledgement. They do not understand why he visits so often. They cannot understand, when they think nothing of the way they keep Slaine locked up, when they genuinely think one person, barely an adult at the time, can truly be the sole reason for the second war.

Yuki would not understand, either.

Making one last turn, Inaho steps into the building’s ‘reception’ area, where there is a low, continuous buzz and hum of patients and doctors and nurses all talking with one another, about their health, about their needs. There are small, steel stands filled with pamphlets on various health problems and home remedies, fliers about doctors and other medical facilities in the area.

Yuki is by the front desk, talking to the nurse currently stationed at it. It seems as if she is showing the nurse the silver ring around her finger, talking excitedly most likely about her recent wedding.

This is where Inaho comes when he is feeling unwell; Slaine probably does not even know how extensive the medical facility actually is, Inaho had only told him that it helps serve patients with post traumatic stress disorder, amongst other things. Inaho stays in a room a few floors above Slaine’s, and Slaine does not even know it. Slaine will probably never know; there is no need for him to, unless he were to finally be admitted as a patient.

Inaho walks toward his older sister, reaching up and gently tapping her on the shoulder to gain her attention. The brunette immediately brightens up upon seeing him, and the nurse shifts in their seat, recognising him; they are unaware of Slaine Troyard’s residency in the facility, and recognise the Kaizukas as frequent patients and visitors. “I’m ready to go, Yuki-nee,” he says softly, and Yuki nods as she pulls away from the counter, bidding goodbye to the nurse.

“Alright. I’ll drive us home,” she hums, pulling a pair of car keys from her jacket pocket, “How’re you feeling?”

Following after her as she pulls away from the counter, the two of them make their way out of the building, and he remains quiet until they are out of earshot. Though he would never say anything to implicate Slaine, or accidentally divulge his existence, he still does not like the thought of anyone listening to their conversations. “I’m fine,” he says, and it is another lie, “Just tired.”

She does not say anything at that. Perhaps she has already figured Slaine has done something to upset him again, and is wondering what to say next, what to say about the person responsible for her brother missing an eye, about the person responsible for causing and continuing the second war.

The keys jingle softly in her hand, the keychains hanging from it softly clamoring against each other, metal on metal. The car beeps softly and the door locks click open as she unlocks them, the two of them entering quietly and sitting for a silent moment.

It is a short moment.

“What happened?”

“He told me to leave.”

It is not a lie.

“Nao..”

She will not be satisfied with only a partial answer.

“He was.. He hasn't been eating again,” Inaho says, and it is not a lie, not a lie, but he is not going to tell his sister about his unrequited love.

No one ever needs to know. Slaine did not need to know.

“Why do you keep coming to see him?” she asks, and it is in that soft tone she uses. Light brown eyes narrowed, she gazes at her younger brother, and Inaho knows she is about to say something she has said many,  _many_ times before. “He doesn't care, so why should you?” she asks, and she has said it so many times that it has lost that malice to it, the confused dislike.

Now, it just sounds confused. A ‘why’, in its most basic form.

“Because I'm responsible for him,” he says, the same answer he offers up each time.

Though he does not answer to  **her**  anymore, Slaine Troyard is his responsibility.

Slaine Troyard will probably  _always_ be his responsibility, up until the final moment he stops breathing.

“It’s my responsibility to make sure he’s cared for properly,” he continues, though he leaves it at that.

It will do him no good to get worked up about it. To spill and say something he will regret, to accidentally tell her how he feels about the person the whole world holds responsible for bringing them misery and sadness a second time.

To tell her he, though confused and without a proper reason  _why_ , loves someone he probably should not care for as much as he does. To tell her the reasons he has started to see Slaine so often, aside from ensuring his wellbeing.

“.. I'll see him once he's had time for himself,” Inaho says, the words, the truth threatening to spill from his lips. They feel like ice in his throat. “Let's go home, Yuki-nee.”

Yuki stares at him.

She cannot figure it out.

Surely, she cannot figure it out.

Not this easily, when he has barely said anything, though Slaine figured out it from three words and his tone, but Slaine obviously pays more attention to  _everything_. He has to, locked in a tiny glass cell with guards and wardens he cannot possibly bring himself to trust.

There is something in her eyes, something pained and confused, but after a few minutes of silence, he realises she has not figured it out.

She is just upset.

There have been many,  _many_ attempts from her to convince Inaho to drop it, drop the responsibility and leave, to run away somewhere nice where he can relax without worry, without stress, somewhere he is not constantly pressured and admitted into hospitals due to constant overloads.

They have all ended in failure.

She finally looks away from him.

He turns his attention to the road, still silent and quiet and still as she turns on the car and slowly, carefully pulls out of the parking lot.

The truthful words remain on his tongue.

For now, he will go home and give Slaine what he wants: space.

For now, he will go home and try to get over the fact that he has fallen in love with someone impossible, someone unattainable, someone who loathes him with every fiber of his being, curses his name and begs him to leave and give up so he can finally disappear.

Maybe, in a few days, once Slaine has calmed down, Inaho can try again. Try, with no cruel intentions, despite knowing full well what it is that Slaine wants.

Maybe, one day, Slaine will not hate him for trying to keep him alive.

**Author's Note:**

> this is.. a warm up.


End file.
